Ch ch ch changes
by Uhlowl22
Summary: Insert Heather Layken. Hunter, friend, compassionate human. Begins at the end of Season 8 and bleeds into the beginning of Season 9. Crowley makes perhaps more than a friend during his captivity. Crowley/OC. Dean, Sam, and Kevin play their parts for the season plot in the background.
1. Chapter 1

Authors Note: Welcome to my way of dealing with the hiatus til January. This story is rated M for a reason so please do not go any further if you are under the age of 18 as required by law and the rules of this site. Was thinking on perhaps turning this into something bigger and more plot worthy so you'll have to let me know what you guys think about that. The full story is already written and edited so be assured that this has an end. Enjoy :)

The setting of the sun did nothing to dampen the constant flutter of anxiety in Heather's chest. It was a shame really to waste such a nice night standing sentry at the doors of a decomposing church. But what was going on inside the church was more important that any drink, flirtatious smile, or meaningless fuck that anyone in the world was having at that moment, or any moment before or after.

Close the gates of hell, they said. It won't be easy, we'll have to claw and scratch and deal and kill to get it done, they said. "They" were right she thought.

Henry Layken had always told his wife that if there was one hunter he felt something akin to trust towards it would be Jon Winchester. Heather was a bit softer and more forgiving than her father. If there were two people alive that she trusted with her life it was Sam and Dean Winchester.

A muted scream ripped Heather from her reverie. Her neck automatically craned back toward the noise. Sam was doing what needed to be done, even if the whole ordeal left a more sour than usual taste in the back of her throat. At 30 she had seen more than most hunters thanks to the sporadic companionship of the boys. Hunting was her life same as them, same as her father's, but she managed to accomplish something that mattered little to most hunters. Heather had held on to her compassion. She steadied her conscience with the assurance that once Sam was finished Crowley would be human; he would have a shot, however tiny, at forgiveness. It was a bit naive yeah, but nothing was 100%, solid to the core, undeniably evil. Sympathy for the devil and all that.

The last scream made five; three more to go. It was that thought that floated in the air about Heather's head as a soft breeze rolled by and she was sent flying forward, met by a hard thump and darkness.

"…rrr ok."

Heather blinked slowly, squeezing her eyes shut against the sharp throb in her head. Sam was knelt down in front of her with an expectant look. She managed a grunt that earned her a wry smile.

"Hold this." Sam instructed towards the rag against her forehead.

She obeyed and relaxed knowing Sam had overcome whatever had tossed her about like a ball of string. A concussion was likely, and she did her best to stay conscious, only dazing out, never falling completely asleep. A few brief moments of unexpected clarity let her hear Crowley and Sam exchange words. Crowley spouting off about HBO.

"I deserve to be loved!"

Heather's skin chilled and a pinch in her chest opened her eyes to look at the meatsuit in the chair. She glanced up at the back of Sam's head. By the finish of a slow blink her eyes had slid back to Crowley, his eyes catching hers for a still second.

Another hour and she heard him again; Crowley asking about forgiveness, then the tilt of his head, catching her tired eyes again as he surrendered to the syringe of Sam's blood. It was a wash of relief…until Dean did what he always does and stopped it all at the last second. Strangely Heather felt another wash of relief, this one with a totally different aftertaste. Hunting was her life, their lives. What would her life be worth if she couldn't hunt? What would she become with the gates of hell closed forever?

Her thoughts faded as Dean jumped behind the wheel of Baby and rushed his brother and her off to the nearest hospital.


	2. Chapter 2

"Is that the last Pop Tart?" Dean stood heavily in the doorway, coffee mug in one hand, empty napkin in the other.

Heather finished chewing her last bite with a bit of discretion and a shrug.

Dean frowned and mumbled something about saving the last one as he turned back toward the kitchen.

"What's with the noise?" Heather had wanted to ask for the two weeks she had been out of the hospital and living in the bunker.

Dean shuffled to a stop and pulled a face, so Heather elaborated.

"It's kind of like muffled thumps. Sometimes it sounds like a garbled voice. I know you guys wouldn't live in this place before cleaning out a spirit so, what's with the noise?"

The older Winchester pulled his chin up before his cell phone saved him an answer.

Heather watched the empty space for a few seconds before heading back to her room to read and ad to her journal. Maybe a nap to take advantage of one of the abnormally quiet periods hunters experienced from time to time.

Three hours later Heather slid out of sleep to another string of noises. Even half asleep, this time she was certain it had been a voice. Ten minutes, a flight of stairs, and half a dozen empty rooms later she was standing in front of a door marked room 217. Behind the door there were two voices. One of them was definitely Kevin Tran.

Watching Kevin beat the shit out of Crowley through a crack between file shelves was like watching a nun beat a trapped wild animal. It wasn't the opening of the hidden doors that startled Kevin, nor was it the fact that when he turned he was looking at Heather rather than Sam or Dean. What startled Kevin was that when he turned around and drew back to swing a heavy chain across Crowley's jaw again, he unexpectedly found that he couldn't move his arm one centimeter. Crowley had been expecting the blow and looked up when it didn't come.

The chain followed the path of Heather's eyes, clanging to the ground at Kevin's feet. She blinked and let go of the young man. The second movement was restored he was backing up, eyes on her with a reproachful glare. Not only had she interfered with his "payback" but now he knew she had been dabbling in witchcraft and would tell the boys first chance he got. As he reached the opposite side of the devils trap he stopped and made to say something that never left his vocal cords.

"Now." Heather said simply, softly, and sternly.

Crowley was a mess, and having seen all manner of ass whoppin's she didn't say that lightly. The severity of some of his injuries was only made worse by the fact that Crowley wasn't going anywhere; his meatsuit could take a lickin' an' keep on coughing up blood and groaning for it to stop. She moved slowly. Not because she was afraid but because she didn't want to startle him. When she leaned down his eyes where closed and a string of blood trickled from his lips to pool in a fold in his shirt. She summoned a rag and bowl of water to wipe some of the blood off to start.

The wet cloth dragged across his stubbled chin with a rasp. A few dips later and he twitched slightly. Heather froze, not having to wait long after for him to lift his head with some effort. In an instant her hands were at his jaw gently supporting the weight and lending assistance. The gesture so took him by surprise that he jerked back only to wince hard with a loud "Ah!" The gentleness of the touch was much more alien to him than being beat about the face with a heavy chain.

They sat locked in a moment where neither knew what the other intended to do next and so neither did anything. From the corner of his eye Crowley spied the bowl of dark stained water and rag sitting inches away. Had his face not been so swollen Heather might have noticed the narrow eyes he moved back toward her. As it was, she was waiting on him with soft blue eyes.

Heather picked up the rag, keeping her eyes on him as she did so. He followed her movements, looking back to her face when she made to lean forward to better reach him now that he was upright. He didn't resist once she started to clean him up again. She noticed the color of the water and restored it and the rag to a clean state. She kept her eyes on her work and soon enough his eyes slid closed. And, to her eternal surprise, he began leaning into her careful ministrations. She nearly stopped the first time she felt him do it. After the initial shock she released some of the tension built upon his unknown reaction to her help. They breathed, the air hardly moved, and the only sound in the room was the rasp of cloth on facial hair.

Two and a half hours later Heather was finishing up the last stitch in the last untreated wound she could find. Crowley had sat stoically through the entire process. The only indication that he was conscious was the occasional grunt or wince.

Even at a whisper Heather's voice rang like an air raid siren after so long in silence.

"I'm finished."

She again cupped the least injured side of his jaw and bent down to look into his closed eyes.

"I'm sorry."

The words crawled into his ears and pulled confusion through the muscles in his forehead. He opened his eyes just in time to see her close the door on her way out.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam had left a message last night as she slept about them checking out a case in Kansas for a few days. Kevin made himself as scarce as possible that afternoon and she never once heard him move anywhere near the stairs leading to the floor below. She had been staring unmoving at her unfinished journal entry for longer than she realized when frustration won out and she tossed the book aside.

Crowley's general manner the day before was uncharacteristic of the demon she had met on a couple previous occasions. This didn't unnerve her as much as it could have. Rather, it was interesting. An idea flitted through her mind and before ten minutes had passed she was standing across the table from the king of Hell and pulling up a seat.

It took a moment but once he got the point he didn't offer any objections. Heather wasn't keeping score on paper, but mentally noted that they were pretty evenly matched Rummy players. After a number of games Heather noted a swipe of blood on one of Crowley's cards. She watched his hands and saw a deep cut on his palm as he reached for a card from the pile. Her hand circled his wrist as much as it could as Crowley jumped with an "Oi!" trying to hide his new card from her view. A wry glance from her and he was setting his cards facedown on the table as he let her turn over his left hand palm up. Heather's eyes shot back up with a question. The cards abruptly disappeared to be replaced by the med kit.

"I would have won that hand." He grumbled under his breath looking down as Heather smiled up at him.

A miraculous thing happened then. Crowley smiled back. It was all very involuntarily of course, and as soon as he made to correct the mistake Heather smiled bigger, instead of being put off as Crowley had expected. In that second his fingers twitched and closed lightly on hers as she held an alcohol dampened gauze pad to his palm. Again she surprised him by not pulling away, and instead put her other hand on the soft skin of his wrist and caressed the spot soothingly. She had no word to describe the moment, and went back to work patching him up.

Four days later the boys came home and Heather had spent a few hours each of those days with Crowley, playing cards and checking on his wounds. They almost never spoke. It had been a quiet few days

The boys however had plenty to say after Kevin ratted her out. She had plenty to say back. The conclusion: Heather wouldn't practice under their roof. She agreed, not intending to let them catch her doing it. She decided to hold off on confronting them about Crowley, and they seemed content to avoid the issue for the time being as well.

That same day at four o'clock she started downstairs with the deck of cards. Dean eyed her silently as she moved through a room and out of sight. She didn't hear his aggravated sigh. As always Crowley was sitting with fingers clasped in front of him, but today his head was bowed and eyes closed. The moment he heard the squeak of the hidden door his head snapped up, but not before Heather took note of the posture. His eyes followed her like they had that first day, and for the first time she felt almost awkward under his gaze.

Collecting herself she took her seat as usual and began to deal. It was only when Crowley didn't pick up his cards that she paused the routine. As if he had telepathically communicated it to her she realized what the cog in the wheel was.

"You didn't think I'd be back with the boys home…?" She looked slowly up from the king of spades in her hand.

Adversely he looked down and began collecting his cards. When it at last seemed to her that he wasn't going to respond she readied herself to begin the game when he finally did speak.

"Don't know why you're here in the first place."

Of course he didn't. How long had it been since someone was near him simply because they wanted to be, no strings attached. She liked the quiet they shared. It was simple, so she offered a simple explanation.

"Because I want to be."

It was then, the look in his eyes, that Heather knew for certain that though the ritual hadn't been completed, it had still had a lasting effect on Crowley; a profound one if the past few days, particularly that moment, were any indication. Sam had left Crowley a demon, but couldn't remove the humanity the ritual had cultured. He was a paradox. He was changing her.


	4. Chapter 4

"You want him to translate this? Doodles?"

Sam nodded and grimaced. "It's our best shot."

Heather looked to Kevin. They were certainly cooler toward one another, but not so much that it interfered with work. She sighed at the resigned look on their faces, handed the papers back, and retreated to her room with a "good luck" called out behind her.

That nights round of cards went by as usual until Heather made to leave. From behind her Crowley's gravelly voice rolled through the air.

"Did Moose show you?"

She turned and nodded. He looked away and found an interesting spot on the floor to examine.

"I told 'em to shove it up the jacksy."

Heather smiled at her feet with her hands in her hoodie pocket. Looking up through her lashes she knew he was paying attention to her reaction on the edge of his vision. His complimentary smile had become customary, but it faded quickly.

On impulse she walked over, stopping inches from him while she opened the deck of cards. A second later she was holding a card down to his restrained reach. He took it without looking, choosing to watch her leave instead.

At four o'clock Heather started the path downstairs, and as she got closer to her destination it was clear that someone was shouting. Her feet automatically picked up the pace at the sound of Crowley's raised vocals. She got to the room in time to catch the tail end of a conversation in which he appeared to be talking to himself. He pushed away a bowl sitting in front of him on the table and looked up, a bit startled to meet Heather's eyes. He had obviously lost track of time after having been on hold for so long. In those few seconds it felt like he was staring _into_ her instead of _at_ her. The only word she could finally think of for those moments was warm. As Crowley requested the translations, Heather thought on the unexpected strangeness of the situation with Crowley and herself. To think of the energy between them as anything other than hateful, much less warm, was unheard of…at least by her.

A moment later Sam and Kevin were heading toward her with dejected looks on their faces. Sam met her eyes and sighed. The door was still open behind her once they were gone. It only took Heather a moment to decide to pretend nothing had happened and take her seat across from him.

"Do you think you could do me a favor ducky?"

Heather stopped and looked at him waiting.

"Would you mind sitting there," gesturing to the edge of the table next to him, "I don't like not being able to see the door when I'm in a room. And it's never smart to sit with your back to a door. Remember that."

She thought about how that was more words than he'd said to her in all the time they'd spent in each other's company. She didn't miss a beat and didn't question the request, choosing to simply sit down where he had asked her to. Out of order he took the unopened deck of cards from her hands and put them out of reach. Putting fingers into the inner pocket of his tattered jacket he laid the king of spades card face up on the table and slid it in toward her as far as his bonds would allow.

She looked at the card, then back at him.

"Why?" He questioned immediately.

Heather's shoulders fell a bit. She didn't have an answer. She had just wanted him to have it, so that's what she said.

He shook his head at this and said no more about it as he slid it back in his pocket and the deck of cards back toward her.

The following morning she woke up to the ring of her civilian cell phone. It was an old friend of her mother's. From the description it sounded like she had stumbled into a poltergeist in her real estate business. Easy clean up, two, three days at the most she told the boys. She would leave that night and be there by morning.

That evening at cards she let Crowley know she would be gone a couple days on a job for a friend. As he nodded his understanding she saw something flash in his eyes, but it was there and gone before she got a feel for what it could have been. As she left she noted how much better he looked. Not just physically, but his demeanor wasn't as sullen as it had been, or as prickly as he was famous for. She smiled a secret smile to herself as she packed a bag. It felt nice to help someone in a way other than burning bones or stabbing things with knives.

AU: Ok so bit of an uneventful chapter...but I'm not without by mercy. Enjoy the introduction to Chapter 5 immediately following. Just to whet your appetites and keep you from getting bored enough to stop reading. This story is only 6 chapters long after all and what self respecting fanfic author wouldn't want to keep their readers waiting for more ;)


	5. Chapter 5

It had gone as she predicted. The case had been a relatively easy job and had her home before the end of the second day. Those two days away had left her missing the coziness of the bunker, the rich smell of dark stained oak, the sound of the boys bickering over nothing…and the quiet of playing cards with Crowley.

Sam and Dean had made an impromptu trip north that would keep them until the following afternoon, so it was no surprise that no one was waiting to greet her when she got back.

It was quiet. It was the wrong kind of quiet.

Not that Kevin really made that much noise, but the place felt a little too empty, as if the prophet weren't even here. Mostly Kevin stayed in the bunker because he was too afraid to go out alone…a little because he had no one to go see. So his being gone left Heather to feel a deeper emptiness to the bunker. Emptiness wasn't the only thing she felt.

Everything was normal up until she got to the doorway of the room she had mentally begun referring to as Crowley's room. The door was ajar and it was deathly silent inside. She quietly rushed in at the ready only to be stopped in her tracks by the sight before her.

AU: The rest of Chapter 5 will follow tomorrow, and the Chapter 6 conclusion the day after. Thanks for reading :)

PS...Just a reminder. People are more apt to read a story with more follows or reviews. Be kind, help a author out. Peace bitches.


	6. Chapter complete

Crowley wasn't just slumped forward; his arms had been pulled away and stretched from his body, wrists chained to opposite corners of the table. His neck was still shackled to the floor behind him, the chain pulling his upper body back, wrenching it painfully up and away from the table his arms were being pulled toward. His shirt was torn open in the front, his chest marred by a number of slices into the flesh there. His arms, shoulders, and back were covered with slices right through the fabric of his clothing into the skin beneath. He was covered in blood, white as a sheet, and so, so still.

Kevin's name appeared floating in her field of vision, promising blind rage instead of concentrating on cleaning up the mess he had made of Crowley. It took mere seconds for her to come to terms with all of this in her head, but seconds for her could have been an eternity in pain for Crowley. The movement of her shoes against the floor barely made a sound but it was enough to jolt Crowley to life. He wasted no time struggling against his bonds, jerking wildly and blindly, tearing at the skin beneath the shackles, all the while crying out jumbled pleas for an end.

In a panic Heather moved her hands to softly cradle Crowley's jaw as she had done once before not very long ago. In a fraction of an instant he ceased his movement and whimpers. A soft shush accompanied the caress on his chin. Heather quietly cooed his name and explained to him to keep still and lean on her. The next second she was at his side slipping her hand under his shoulder. She pulled back a bit to take the pressure off his neck and quickly stabilized her grip on him before concentrating on the snap of her fingers, popping open the right shackle. Slowly and carefully she ducked down and slipped under his arm, draping it securely around her shoulders. Her face was so close to his ear. She could smell the pain on him. Her words came out in a breath that cooled his right cheek and sent a shiver over his skin.

"Lean your weight onto me when I open the cuff. I've got you."

The last part came out so quiet he almost would not have heard if she hadn't been so close to him. Another snap of her fingers and the weight of his injuries fell entirely on her shoulders as his neck was freed. He had no strength to hold himself up, even if she had needed him to. As the last cuff opened he groaned such a low and helpless sound that something in her chest instantly tore.

Her powers had been growing the more she exercised them, and the one she had been concentrating on was summoning. To summon a bed from a floor below and rooms away…she didn't know if she had it in her. What showed up was a single size mattress with sheets, a blanket, and half a cotton pillow with the stuffing slowly sliding out.

Crowley at least had enough strength to help safely slide his body off the chair to the mattress. Once on his back a slow grimace contorted his features. The wounds on his back reopened and oozed blood to soak into the mattress. A choked moan followed a small shift to his right. Blindly his hands gripped at the air until one found the material beneath him and his other met skin. Heather could feel the tremble in his grip as she closed her hand around his.

"Crowley?" She squeezed and he squeezed back. Heather smiled. "I need to sit you up so that I can get to-to your back."

He squeezed back slowly and held the grip. She could feel a slight tug on her arm as his other hand searched for hers. They maneuvered slowly but eventually Heather was situated behind him, legs on either side of his thighs, providing support for Crowley to lean back just enough to be stable as she cleaned and dressed the cuts.

The distraction of suddenly noticing the demon blade tossed near the door stilled her work on the last wound in the crook of his right shoulder. At the cease of her movements Crowley made the first sound he'd made in 45 minutes. It was a small whimper as he rolled his head to the right, his mussed hair almost brushing her chin. He was completely sunk back against her by then, only his head remaining forward as she worked around the area of his neck.

Another moment and she was done…with his back. Though she was doing virtually no physically activity exhaustion begun tightening its grip. She released a sigh and let herself relax back against the wall for the moment. With her movement Crowley let his head fall slowly back onto Heather's shoulder. Her hand flexed upward from his neck and she gave it license to continue, lightly running her finger up through his hair. When she reached the top she repeated the action back down. Almost immediately Crowley's entire body tensed. Heather had felt it but she didn't stop. She couldn't think to try and explain why just then. It took a few long moments but eventually Crowley began to unclench and sink back into her.

Finally she realized time had gotten fast away from her. The outer door to Crowley's room was now closed. Someone had been down there and seen them. It mattered little to her what they thought, but she had to wonder at the lack of assistance they offered.

Heather groaned at the stiffness in her neck and legs. As she attempted to stretch she noted that Crowley's hand had wrapped itself under her knee. Her chest ached at the sight. Her movement to brush his hand was halted by the sight of the raw skin around his wrists. Her eyes watered. It had been a fantastic number of hours full of worry and anxiety and pain. Time was catching up with her. A broken chocked sob heaved her chest as she put her hand over her mouth and closed her eyes. At the movement Crowley's head lolled restlessly. She wanted to just let it go.

"Please."

She froze.

"Don't. Heather. Please."

Her eyes opened and moved down as he opened his and looked up. His right cheek was emblazoned with a knife slice, so she ran her fingers down the left. Crowley's eyes fell shut and he leaned toward the touch.

This demon, who wasn't really a demon anymore, the king of Hell, was completely defenseless and vulnerable. If she decided to kill him in that moment, there would have been nothing he could have done to stop her. He was completely at her mercy, and maybe he had expected more pain or the final curtain close. Instead he got the soft press of lips on his forehead just above his eyebrows. He savored the feel of her hand and lips on his skin by sinking entirely back to melt into her curves. His fingers began absently caressing the back of her knee. She released the kiss but slid her lips up his skin to bury her nose in his hair and inhale thickly. He was a bloody, bandaged mess, but he smelled heavenly: worn leather, scotch, and sulfur.

He had wrapped his other hand under a knee and began the same caress. It tickled slightly, but was reassuring, gentle, and intimate. She began lightly scratching the back of his neck and earned a pleasant hum from Crowley for the gesture.

Heather swallowed a dry throat. "Are you in a lot of pain?" She breathed the words lowly behind his right ear.

"Pain is different for a demon. I've felt worse."

He sounded different. No sarcasm, no reproachful lilt. He spoke to her like he was answering someone who genuinely wanted to know. Of course she had no idea what to make of the comment. She wanted to finish patching him up and lessen his pain as much as possible, but he was so comfortably tucked into her that she decided to give him just a few more minutes.

Crowley felt a shift forward and knew what was coming. He cringed knowing it was going to hurt and it wouldn't be over quickly. He allowed her movements to guide him and soon he was back against a disintegrating pillow between him and the wall. Heather leaned over from his right. Seeing this he spread his legs as comfortably as he could so she could sit between them rather than lean as she was. With her movement stirred his libido. There had been no provocative intent behind the gesture, but unintended or not the feel of her knees brushing the inside of his thighs sparked a spasm of interest in his lower abdomen.

Over the next hour any arousal he had been feeling was crushed by the pain of being tended to. Heather tried to be as gentle and effective as possible, and with the final stitch in place on his cheek she set down her tools and grabbed the blanket to wrap around the back of Crowley's bare upper body. As her hands fell away Crowley caught one of them and pulled it into his grasp moving it up to rest her palm on his left cheek. Eyes still closed he leaned into her touch once again and nuzzled her thumb as it swept under a tired eye. The bruises all over his body were much more visible with the blood wiped from his skin. It was a particularly dark bruise she brushed her thumb over as he pressed her hand harder to his cheek.

She looked at him, really looked at him and still saw the stocky handsome Englishman she had met a couple years ago. His ego was much smaller in such a vulnerable state. It wasn't his helplessness that snagged her though. It was his desire for attention and closeness…like he must crave it on a molecular level.

_I deserve to be loved!_

She knew he was not innocent by any stretch of any definition of the word. He must have slid in and out of a number of women, and possibly men, over the centuries. Certainly his lips had made their way around the world. It was the intimacy of a comforting touch and how to get more of it that was alien to him. She knew all of this like it was her own mind thinking it.

Heather brought her free hand up and smoothed her fingertips along the curve of his eyebrow. This earned her a hum of contentment from the back of Crowley's throat. While she continued the stroke she decided to lay him down. He followed her again without hesitation, the whole time keeping hold of her hand. He sighed back into the mattress and let sleep finally take him, her hand still gently clasping his.


	7. Chapter 7

AU: Since I wasn't able to update yesterday due to technical difficulties I'll go ahead and put a few of you out of your misery and hand over the last Chapter. This Chapter is rated M and should not be viewed by anyone under the age of 18. Remember, reviews are love and let me know your thoughts on turning this into something bigger. Enjoy :)

Two days he slept, and two days she spent in that room leaving only when she required food or the bathroom, and no one upstairs interfered. It was slow in showing, but the sleep was doing him good. His wounds were healing nicely. His eyes finally opened around 11pm the second night of his rip van winkle level nap. He looked around, settled on her and immediately looked away, flexing his empty right hand. Heather watched him, trepidation growing in her chest. He began to sit up, ignoring her outstretched hand when she offered it. He finally made it back against the wall and he leaned with a sigh. She waited, a few moments passing as he continued to ignore her.

"You can go." He growled out, tone veiled with indifference.

By the time he sensed her movement she was already beside him, her legs crossed, one knee resting against his thigh and the other angled slightly behind his back. He stared straight ahead stoically refusing to look at her as her hands slipped under his bicep, careful not to brush any injuries, and she settled her right cheek against the curve of his shoulder as she lightly massaged the tired muscles of his arm. He had no choice but to close his eyes against the sensations, swallowing the thick lump of determination to forget the ritual, the church, things he'd said, and the past weeks with Heather…especially that.

Mostly he stared forward, studied the floor in front of him or turned away from her. But there were also the few seconds where his eyes would slowly fall shut and his brow would smooth out, a deep breath would escape his hulk and his body would lean into her just a fraction. She recognized a man trying to pull away out of pride when she saw one. It must have been _so_ much for him…the ritual and the past weeks in the bunker. He would have been completely at odds with himself. Unable to reconcile the throb of humanity inside him with who he was as a demon. It must have been terribly confusing for him, and frightening. A man in his position would choose no action over an unfamiliar one. He would retreat and cover himself in the last vestiges of pride that remained to him. He would step back miles from the cliff he'd been teetering on because _that_ was self-preservation.

Slowly she leaned forward and pressed warm lips against the warmer skin of his shoulder as she tightened her fingers in his muscles and pulled him off balance almost into her lap. As the bulk of his weight had to lean against her to keep from falling completely she held him to her and, as serious as he'd ever seen anyone in his existence, she spoke.

"This," she squeezed him to her for emphasis, "is not a lie."

Heather knew the moment as soon as she saw it. His face was guarded and anxious, but his muscles relaxed for her, his entire being at odds with every part of itself. She smiled kindly as her hands glided from his shoulders up along his collar bone and up the sides of his neck, feeling the scratch of his facial hair against her palms and relishing the tingle it ignited in her hands. She watched him fight against leaning in and closing his eyes.

_I deserve to be loved!_

He had shouted it so passionately. But there had been something softer and more broken after that. Something just now giving her one more reason.

_I just wanna be loved._

He didn't have time to decide whether to close his eyes or not as Heather leaned forward and swept her lips from one corner of his mouth to the other, enjoying the suppleness of his lips and the roughness around them. She didn't expect an immediate response, and choose not to force one on him continuing instead to breathe light kisses all over his face and neck. It needed to be his choice to have her lips on his.

His eyes finally closed, breath passing his lips in short uncontrolled puffs. Heather felt the pressure change against her legs as he turned his torso to her. Automatically her legs uncurled and straddled is hips, a move which earned her an appreciative groan. In a second his fingers were on her jaw feeling the curve of her smile for the first time. Gentle urgency radiated from him as he halted her wandering kisses and brought them face to face, watching his thumb skirt the pout of her bottom lip. Her lips parted at his touch and Crowley steadily floated toward her until her bottom lip was caught between his tongue and upper teeth. She softly swept her tongue against the curve of his upper lip as their mouths opened for one another. Their tongues danced, not battled.

Crowley's hands had slid up into her hair assuring that her lips wouldn't leave his. She was only too happy to comply, but his lingering reluctance slipped between their bodies like a wavering barrier. She moaned into his mouth and the barrier wavered a bit further. She broke away just enough that her lips barely swept his as she spoke.

"I want to be here. I want to feel myself cradled into you. I want to hold on tight. I need to feel your chest against mine." She pecked him softly on the lips as his breath came deep and fast. "I need you to let yourself be wanted."

Heather licked her lips, barely nodding her head at first, and when Crowley miraculously followed the nod she pressed her lips to his as his legs crossed under her butt and her legs locked around the back of his waist. The kiss was long and deep and slick. It was perfect and left their lips with a tingle that would never go away. Her hands wandered from tangled in his hair, feeling the strength under the skin of his upper back and shoulders, through his dark chest hair, and further. When one hand dipped lower than he was expecting and swept across a nipple his breath hitched and he squeezed Heather tighter. Crowley's hands had found the snap on her bra. He slipped up the under curve of her breasts, his fingers lightly seeking the tender peaks of her nipples. She pressed into his hands as he gently pinched, rubbed, and flicked the soft nubs of pink flesh.

His hands took the weight of her breasts and his mouth trailed down her throat, lips seeking the skin beneath her collar bone currently hidden by the shirt she still wore. His hot breath huffed through the fabric as his mouth trailed down landing open over an unattended nipple.

The suddenness of skin to skin contact in the instant after she had mentally divested them of their garments had stilled their rocking. They both seemed to wonder at the feel of the other, too entranced to do anything but savor the moment of the most incredible thing either of them had ever felt.

The drag of her breasts against his chest sent a flush over her entire body. His breath came in short stunted gasps as he adjusted to the chill of the air against a particularly sensitive and upright part of his anatomy. Heather would have been ridiculously unobservant had she not noticed the strain in his pants, the tip of which she had been rocking the inside of her thigh against. Now she could feel the warm smooth flesh of him sliding wetly across her skin. Crowley hadn't moved and kept his gaze locked on her eyes. Almost every second he would drop a moist kiss near her lips as he watched her. He was giving up control of the situation, she realized. It scared and warmed her. This king of demons, devoid of his arrogance and ego, trusted her with his body and his pleasure; trusted her to take care of him and love him.

The pads of her fingers slid down his dampened skin, past his chest, over his abdomen and nestled at the base of his cock. Her fingers slid around him carefully, testing pressures to see what he liked. Once she saw the expression she had waited for she began to stroke up with great slowness reaching the tip, squeezed, twisted slightly and brought her hand back down in one fluid movement. She continued as Crowley's head fell back and mouth slacked open. Every few strokes she would swipe her thumb over the head of his cock and his hips would happily buck upward seeking more of her.

Her arm between their bodies occasionally pressed just above where she wanted pressure the most. The throb between her legs grew sweetly painful at the little sounds rising through Crowley's gravelly voice. When he became breathy she nearly lost it, but slowed her pace and whispered for him to open his eyes. Shining green met her lust darkened blue as she kissed him innocently on another slow upstroke. His eyes fluttered but he kept them open for her. She licked and bit and licked his bottom lip on the down stroke, her body moving perfectly with the motion of her hand. He could feel the burning hot of her arousal hovering just above the head of his still hardening cock.

His voice was trashed and deeply sexy. "Heather, I don't want to cum in your hand." He inhaled the scent of her hair as deep brown strands brushed across his face when she rose up above him, her fingertips barely holding his cock where she wanted it.

She smiled at him and traced the curve of his chin as she stared down into his expectant eyes. Her entire body sank down into his lap, her hand seamlessly guiding the head of his cock to her waiting heat. He had no desire to hold back the long deep moan that surged from his chest as she slid easily onto him. She was so wet and wanting that she stretched readily for him until he was seated tight and deep inside of her. She was pleasantly exasperated at how full she felt. Thinking of the deal he supposedly made for his soul left her reeling at how perfectly he fit inside of her. They clung to each other unmoving, panting. Crowley's hair was now wet with perspiration. Heather knew it was from being aroused, but she was also mindful of the toll what they were doing would take on his battered body. The throbbing ache inside demanded she slam down on him until they were a screaming, grunting, sweaty heap on the floor. But he was hurt. And Crowley just wanted to be loved. Heather wanted to give him that.

Instead of rising up she rocked her hips down and forward, pushing him even deeper inside. They both moaned and he pushed back. She repeated the action and he pushed back again, understanding immediately the rhythm she intended to set. It was slow and quiet as they simply rocked together, faces buried in the crook of the others neck. Heather steered clear of bandages and traced a hot trail over his back. His hands restlessly massaged her hips, nowhere near hard enough to bruise even though a few times she just wanted him to grab her and slam up into her. She raised her head and watched his blissful expression before tracing over his eye lids. They opened heavily and locked on hers. Never once did they break the steps of their slow dance.

Heather sighed his name and Crowley's hips jerked up unexpectedly, forcing a strangled groan from Heather's throat. He did it again, holding her down with more force as he bucked up. Her nails almost sunk into his shoulders, but the reminder to be gentle was continuously sounding in her mind behind the swirl of pleasure and emotion. A third jerk of his hips and her breath caught in her throat opening her eyes to watch a slow, cheeky grin pull at Crowley's lips. She couldn't help but smile back and capture his lips with a swirl of her tongue.

"Let me." She caressed his jaw and he pressed back throwing them into an emotion filled kiss as Heather finally lifted her hips from his and slid easily back down, rolling her hips down and in, then up and back in continuous motion. Crowley never had time to adjust or catch his breath. As soon as he could get the motion she would switch direction, never speeding up the slow unremitting movement of sliding up and down his steel hardened cock. Her lips never once left his after she began the assault. He clutched at her like he needed the anchor or he would fly away. She held him carefully but with passion and desire.

This was his. This was for him. She could feel the tenseness in his muscles as he held back, waiting for her to find release before finding his own, but that wasn't what Heather wanted.

"Crowley." She breathed, him responding with a soft moan. "Crowley let go." She kissed his neck just under his ear and he shuddered at her words. "Please let go. Cum for me Crowley."

Tears sprang to his eyes under their lids, his teeth sunk pleasurably into Heather's shoulder and Crowley let go. She could feel the twitch of his release as she again pressed down deep onto him. He held on to her for his life. A broken whimper escaped him as he gave one last jerk upward and Heather flew apart. It wasn't one of those "the sky is exploding and I'm being sucked through a cloud lined black hole" orgasms. It was much more intense than that. She had no conscious control over her sudden grip or the twitching of her hips. As Crowley realized what was happening he resumed the previous rolling of his hips to push repeatedly deeper into her as her muscles coiled and held him there, unwilling to let him go. To his eternal surprise he couldn't hold back a second release so soon after his first. The orgasm rolled through them until they were still once again. The only sound their heavy, sated breaths. They stayed like that, connected, leaning into each other for long moments. An occasional hum of contentment would escape one of them; an errant caress of skin here and there as the last of the anticipatory energy dissipated from their union. Even long after that neither seemed intent on ever letting go.


	8. Chapter 8

I'm surprised and excited at the response I've received for this little story. A couple of you have expressed interest in reading something a little bit more involved so I have decided to begin working on another story to follow this one. It will take some time, I want to see where the writers are taking the storyline for the show. So give me a few weeks and I should have something ready to put up. Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed. It's the greatest compliment to a writer to have some one say they liked a story.


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